


Fight Me in the Open

by red_smear



Series: Shitty Boy Corner [7]
Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: "Zagreus Bimbofication" Is Not An Accurate Tag But It's Not NOT Accurate, "Zagreus" (Derogatory), Accidental Voyeurism, Achilles Has Advice And Patroclus Has No Mercy Whatsoever, Anal Sex, Catty Banter GALORE, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Humiliation, Humiliation Kink VIA Praise Kink Whaaaat, M/M, Obviously Always Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Spanking, Subspace, Theseus Is Still Insecure What Else Is New, Theseus Wants His Sub To Stop Being So Mean Wah, Zagreus Does His Best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:08:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28717047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_smear/pseuds/red_smear
Summary: Truly, he didn’t want to train.  But what else is he to do?  Languish in his empty room, which always seems too large by far without Asterius’ company?  He pauses with one hand on the door, hardly wanting to go in.  But, well, perhaps the bull will follow later and bring some cheer in the form of--The fiend.Is here.  Waiting for him, just as he asked.  Kneeling, completely naked.  Flushed with furious humiliation.The sight is electrifying.
Relationships: Thanatos/Zagreus (Hades Video Game), Theseus/Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Series: Shitty Boy Corner [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2010508
Comments: 65
Kudos: 242





	Fight Me in the Open

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again to @darkmodeproxy, with whom I hammered out the main beats for this story! I'm really really happy with it, perhaps because in my heart of hearts I just want to give Theseus everything he wants. It turned out REALLY long, and it's fully half shenanigans half porn, but you all knew what you signed on for.

The concept was this: that Theseus would go out into Elysium, and once more accost the daemon “Zagreus” in his destructive travails there, and--

Well, so what if he had nothing planned, after that, except that at some point he might persuade the daemon to service him as usual? Even now, Theseus is convinced he could have done it--the creature is so pliant, of late. But before he could do any accosting at all, a great deathly bell had rung out, and Theseus, recognizing it, had dived into hiding behind some shrubberies.

He remained there, in fact, through the entire battle. Exalted warriors rushed about beyond his hiding place, and the fiend laid waste with his bloodthirsty sword, and Death reduced foe after foe to scintillating purple mist, and anyway it was chaos of the highest degree until the chamber was clear.

Save, of course, for Theseus. Who still has not found the right moment to reveal himself, and is beginning to believe it may never come. He watches anxiously through the leaves of an immaculate Elysian topiary as Death offers the daemon a gift. A centaur heart, to be precise--glossy blue-black-red and pulsing with life.

“Have that,” he says. “I need to move along.”

“You’ve got somewhere to be right now?”

“I always have somewhere to be.” Death cocks his head as though listening for some faint sound. “...But. Not at the moment, no. Not _yet._ ”

“Then you have time,” says the fiend, drawing even closer.

“Technically, yes. How _much_ time, though…”

“Then the sooner we start, the better.” The daemon’s head is on a level with his lover’s breastbone, and Theseus watches him press his mouth to the bare flesh there. Thanatos, Death Incarnate, twitches all over like a spooked horse.

“This is inappropriate,” he mutters, somehow both harsh and shy at once, but his toes drop, touching the ground. His great scythe melts away in a green flash, sheathed into some hidden space.

“It’s just, I never see you…” As he sinks, the daemon’s mouth reaches his chest, his clavicle. “Come on, Than, what could it hurt? Who’s going to know?”

 _Me,_ thinks Theseus immediately, but says nothing. It would be courageous, perhaps, to speak up here. But then--it would have been _more_ courageous to speak up earlier, or perhaps not to have hidden like a child in the first place...but no! No, he mustn’t think such things. He’s merely graciously sparing the fiend’s dignity by concealing himself.

“Both of us, to start with,” says Death. His voice is level, but the daemon must perceive some secret hint of humor in it, because he chuckles blissfully.

“Damnit, well, you’ve got me there.” He buries his face in Death’s neck, his voice muffled, punctuated with kisses. _“How...will I ever...convince you...after that?”_

“You’re--incorrigible,” says Death, with a hitch in his steady, clipped voice. Theseus realizes with terrible dread that, yes, this is going to happen, and the least he could do is not watch. He ducks back down, eyes fixed doggedly on the statue across from him. It’s a hero whose name he does not know, holding a discus in an attitude of fierce readiness. His blank eyes meet Theseus’ unblinkingly. Judging.

“Please, Than?” More kissing sounds. Somehow it’s worse, just hearing it. Theseus stares at the statue, wishing it would spring to life and fling its discus, not-killing him on the spot. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s always lovely to find you waiting in my room, but...”

“Zag,” says Death--just that, other words seeming to fail him.

“Please?” says the daemon again. There's sound of shifting cloth and one of them groans, a breath of a sound. “What can I give you? Poetry? Ambrosia? I don’t have any on me now but there’s no way I’ll be losing in the arena this time--”

Death snorts, then sucks in a breath, groans again. “Don’t have to, _hh_ , bribe me, Zag…”

“Is that a yes?” More kissing, now intercut with increasingly heavier breathing. “I can seduce harder, you know--”

“Just--just _come here,”_ says Death, sounding at his wit’s end, and from there all is left to Theseus’ imagination. How fortunate then, how blessed he is, that it obliges so deftly!! That his mind, which had always seemed best suited to practical pursuits such as battle, has become in death so-- _creative._ How _wonderful!!_

Theseus is not coping well with the situation.

It’s not the slick, rhythmic noises or the standard grunts and moans. It’s not even the shameful, illicit nature of the moment--though that’s certainly not helping. It’s how damned _eager_ the daemon is throughout the entire thing.

 _“Is that good?”_ he whispers now, damnedly sweet. Thanatos huffs something indecipherable and, to Theseus, inconsequential, imagining now those same words addressed to him. No, he thinks in desperation, not here, not with _these two_ as well--! Was it not enough to witness “Zagreus” with his Fury, and be debased by her, and perversely enjoy it all?! How did it come to this?!

He hears them both come eventually, two gods whisper-laughing and egging each other on like gleeful youths having their first outside fumble. Theseus couldn’t care less; he’s sunk far too deep in the fantasies that blossom from each overheard snatch of the daemon’s words. _That’s it...beautiful--please, so glad you found me--I love your hands--_ “I love your hands”--ridiculous, the kind of nonsense one babbles in the heat of the moment, and yet Theseus’ traitor body strains at the words, aches to hear them addressed to him.

Which is why, even when the daemon has taken his gift and kissed Death goodbye, even when Theseus is free to leave himself, he finds himself sitting frozen, his hands clenched on his knees. Staring at his groin. He should go, if he’s to intercept the daemon at the arena. He _should_. He doesn’t have time for... _this._

The discus-wielding hero stares at him still. Judging. As he should, thinks Theseus, and shudders suddenly, imagining-- _open your legs, pathetic little man, show everyone_ \--and _damn_ it, damn it _all_ \--

When he skids into the arena ten minutes later, Asterius and the daemon are already locked in heated battle. It’s horrendous.

Something must be done about this.

\--

Zagreus is squatting, bored, by the back entrance of the arena when Theseus approaches. Thank the gods--Zagreus has many skills, but sitting still for prolonged periods of time is not one of them.

“Well?” he says, rising. “You told me to wait, and I waited. What do you want, king?”

He thinks he can guess--Theseus is only interested in two things from him, and they already did one of them today or tonight. But he’d rather hear it for himself.

“Ah. Hellspawn.” Theseus looks...defiant? Or nervous, or perhaps both. This can’t be good, thinks Zagreus as the king draws himself up, clearing his throat ostentatiously. “Well you should ask! I have...thought of a way you might better please me!”

Zagreus almost grins--he should have known. Alright. He’ll play. Putting on an air of disinterest, he drawls, “You made me wait for _this_.”

Theseus glares at him. “Silence, and attend to me! This is _precisely_ the behavior I wish to address--I have long since accepted that you will ransack and defile and sate yourself as you please, regardless of my wishes! But our...outside engagements...they are a different matter entirely!”

“Somewhat,” Zagreus concedes.

“Yet you always make such a _labor_ of it!” Theseus practically whines. Not exactly the attitude Zagreus was expecting. “Never have you earnestly sought my attentions! Always you act the prey, and induce me to hunt you! I should like to be beseeched with--kisses, and--”

 _“Beseeched with kisses,”_ says Zagreus, incredulous. “Did I hit you too hard? Did you take a sip from the Lethe and forget how this goes? Are you--”

Theseus grabs him clumsily by the face, fingers digging into Zagreus’ cheeks. His own cheeks are a deep, familiar red. “Silence, filth! I said what I said! Y-you have submitted to me too many times to deny your love of it! I demand only that you show it for once, from the start! I am a king and a champion!”

This last mainly sounds as though he’s trying to reassure himself. Zagreus can’t summon any mercy for him on that count--not shoved against a wall, held by the jaw like a dog that won’t take its medicine. Besides, _this_ is how it goes. Theseus swaggers around talking himself up and they jostle and argue until they fuck (now with added negotiation, he reminds himself, for Meg). Zagreus doesn’t trail after the king with tender entreaties, begging to kiss his feet.

 _No, that usually takes at_ least _five minutes,_ his brain counters, and--alright, _forget_ this. Zagreus can think of an easy way out of this, one that will be enjoyable for both of them. And then they can move on from whatever new insecurity has got Theseus’ loincloth in a twist.

He twists his head, freeing his mouth. “ _Mph,_ if there’s anything you want from me, _king_ , you know how to get it. Come on... _or are you quite afraid?”_

He had been positive it would work. Had trusted that Theseus would be unable to resist the challenge, the invitation, the subtle mockery. And, indeed, the king’s grip tightens for a moment, his gaze hot and curious. Zagreus nips at the web of skin between Theseus’ thumb and forefinger, tasting the leather of his glove. _Come on. Are you going to make me shut up or not?_

With infuriating restraint, Theseus withdraws, folding his arms. Zagreus watches the bunching of muscles in his arms and chest, and wants to be pinned under them, and hates it. Why isn’t he doing it?

“Here are my terms,” says Theseus, as though he isn’t visibly holding himself back. “Should you ever defeat me again, daemon--”

“I _just_ did,” says Zagreus testily.

“-- _On that occasion,_ I expect to find you waiting in my chambers after the fact.” Theseus’ eyes unfocus dreamily. “Nude...and ready for me...and--prepared to _make an effort_. Your bearing should be docile! As it was on the occasion before Lady Megaera’s intervention!”

“That’s not--” Zagreus has never been so wanting and so damned angry at the same time. “You can’t just say-- _do this, or else_ \--what? Or else, what? Tell me that, king!”

“Or else--well--perhaps I’ll end our debauchery here!” Theseus sputters. “Perhaps this shall be the end of it!”

“Oh no, anything but that!” Zagreus snaps. “Whoever shall I find to do exactly the things you do, but better?”

He’s struck a nerve--Theseus’ brows knit together and his chin bunches stubbornly. And though it’s often difficult to know what wild conclusions he's leaping to, Zagreus has a guess this time.

“Wait. Is this all because of the thing with Meg?”

“Um,” says Theseus, his expression a resounding _yes_.

Great. Wonderful. Zagreus squeezes his eyes shut, sighs through his nose. “You like _this_ , you like--I _know_ you do!”

“Against all of my better judgment, yes.” Theseus looks sulky, now--gods, how does Asterius stand that fragility of his? “I should simply like you to show your _own_ liking! But you apparently could go without our--little meetings, and be no worse off for it! Well, so could I!”

“Is that so.” _Liar._

“It is!” Theseus waves a kingly hand, not even deigning to look at him now. “So, off with you! And think on what I said!”

This loudmouth. “I won’t, thank you very much!” says Zagreus, and makes his exit, burning with indignation he’s very much looking forward to taking out on some rats. What utter nonsense--as if Theseus could resist for longer than an attempt or two! He’ll relent in time, and then things will be back to normal. No problem.

\--

“I refuse to relent!” says Theseus, ducking under Asterius’ axe.

“Why?” Asterius takes another swing. “Perhaps the short one simply dislikes the thought too much. Why waste your energy seeking things he may never give?”

 _“Asterius!!”_ Theseus cries, betrayed. “Your words cut deeper than your blade, my friend--was it not you who reassured me the fiend must have his own ardent hunger for me?”

“It was.” Asterius knocks aside a well-aimed thrust of his spear. “But, King, if he will not…”

“Then, yes! Perhaps I shall still one day be tempted back to his--infernal flesh! But Asterius-- _hup!_ \--you said once you desired honesty from me! Am I so wrong to seek the same?”

Asterius plants his axe with a snort, and Theseus comes to a halt as well, spinning his spear in one practiced hand. The bull seems to be thinking.

“No,” says Asterius at last. “I think not. But should the short one present it to you in some other way than what you ask…”

“Then I shall accept it graciously and make no mention of his cowardice,” says Theseus promptly.

“...Indeed.” Asterius hefts his axe again, rolls his shoulders. Such weight, such power in such a small movement. Theseus licks his lips, excitement flaring in his breast. Time for their sparring to begin in earnest. “I hope you find common ground as rivals once again, and soon.”

“Oh?”

“The two of you spur each other to greater heights. It makes my heart glad.” Asterius pauses. “Besides which, you have purchased so many items for his use…a shame, if they should go to waste. Though I still don’t understand the garments among them. Are clothes not meant to hide the body…?”

“On your guard, Asterius!” cries Theseus, his cheeks hot. And bless the bull, he’s too keen for the fight to continue the line of questioning.

\--

“Come, lad,” says Achilles. “What’s troubling you?”

“Yes, tell us,” says Patroclus, leaning on his spear. “Is it to do with that lover of yours, that you spoke of? Your third, if my Achilles tells the truth...quite the busy godling, aren’t you?”

“I--that’s--” Zagreus flounders. By all rights, the peaceful silence and the cool air off the Lethe should help, but if anything they only make his heartbeat seem louder, his face hotter. Complaining to these two had seemed like a good idea last time. After all, they've all mocked Theseus together before--it had seemed only natural to prompt more of it, even disguising the king's identity.

Zagreus is beginning to regret it, now.

“Don’t mind him,” says Achilles, glancing at Patroclus in mild reprimand. “What drew you to them in the first place, lad?”

He’s never been good at lying outright. Zagreus opens his mouth, casting about for some half-truth to throw them off the scent. _Well, I have a thing for men with long hair_ \--but, no. Not with Achilles tugging fondly at one of Patroclus’ curls even as he watches. He shuts his mouth. Opens it again. _All my life I’ve fantasized about heroes of legend, you see--_ no. No, that’s even worse.

“You’re starting to look like one of those fish you’re always hauling around, stranger,” says Patroclus drily. “Why, I feel I ought to cast a line and draw you in.”

Zagreus clears his throat. “He’s--he’s just--I don’t know.” More answers pour into his head, all of them too obscene for present company. _He stepped on me once and I thought about it for a week, usually with a hand down my trousers. He’s almost too easy to turn on. When he calls me filth I can’t decide whether I want to kill him or roll over and beg for more. He has a friend with a massive cock I’m still praying he’ll share with me._ “He’s...quite good-looking,” he says at last, lamely.

Achilles gives him exactly the faint, indulgent smile Zagreus knew he would. It’s humiliating. “...I see. Well, there’s no shame in having an eye for a pretty face. But you said they--he--asked something of you? What was it, if it’s not too bold of me?”

Zagreus hesitates, mentally shearing everything sexual away from Theseus’ demands. “Er...he’d like me to do something special for him. To prove my...interest.”

“I don’t know about that, lad," says Achilles, frowning. "I’ve seen you with Thanatos and Megaera. I don’t know how anyone could ask more of you in that area.”

“Ah.” He should accept the flattery, and let the warmth blossoming in his chest go undampened. But, well... “Thank you, sir, it’s just...I I haven’t exactly...I mean, I haven’t given him nectar. Or ambrosia. Or anything.”

He can see the confusion brewing in the furrow between Achilles’ brows, the tilt of his head. “Then--forgive me, prince--”

“Zagreus.”

“Zagreus,” says Achilles, inclining his head with the faintest of smiles. “Forgive me, but...do you have any true affection for this person? Why, you even lavished such gifts on Pat and myself--”

“For some reason,” Patroclus interjects, raising his eyebrows. Achilles shoots him a look. For a moment, they converse solely through expressions, a flicker of emotions Zagreus can neither track nor decipher, until Patroclus seems to surrender. “--Alright. Apologies, stranger. But he’s right, you know. Why bother with this request if you haven’t any affection for him?”

Zagreus glares down at his feet. No affection...well, that’s true. Everyone speaks as though he has an infinite supply, but with Theseus it ran dry within seconds. He’d been delighted, _starstruck_ \--Theseus and the minotaur! All his life, he’d heard the tales of them! And then for one of them to immediately secure a spot among his Top Five Least Favorite People--and _then_ start chasing him about, dick-first--

“Much to think on, it would seem,” says Patroclus, sparing him the obligation of answering. “In the meantime, why don’t you just tell us who it is? We can keep your secrets. Better than you can, probably.”

“I don’t think…” Zagreus scrubs awkwardly at his face, where a streak of blood has been drying for the past two minutes. He tries to picture their reactions to the truth, and the immediate flood of shame answers for him. _“Urgh..._ no. Sorry, sir.”

“Why, for _you_ to forgo gossip, they must be truly terrible,” Patroclus exclaims, with a rare smile. And then, making Zagreus’ insides turn to hot ice: “I think it must be the champion, no? He’s seduced you like that minotaur of his. You’ve been entranced by the shine off that gods-awful mask.”

“Haha!” says Zagreus, his voice several notches higher than usual, and Patroclus does a double-take that ends in a slow, calculating look. Oh, gods.

“Come on, Pat.” Achilles nudges his partner with an elbow, and Patroclus sways back against him, pressing their shoulders companionably together. “He’s joking, lad. We both know you wouldn’t come within arm’s length of the champion if you weren’t slated for battle on the regular. More importantly, on that topic--you’ve had a rough time in the arena of late, haven’t you? Remember to keep your eyes up out there. You’ll get them this time.”

“Er, yes. Thank you, sir,” says Zagreus, in a cold sweat.

Patroclus bows his head slightly, managing to make even this small display of deference seem wry and knowing. “My apologies. Your private affairs are your own business, stranger. Still, if you’d like to include us in them as well...you know where we are.”

Alright, that's _more_ than enough teasing for one day or night. Zagreus downs his Kiss of Styx in one go, springs to his feet, and essays a too-cheery salute. “Well--thank you, sirs, see you around then, bye!”

A hand lands on his shoulder, familiar callouses rough against his skin. Zagreus holds, half-turns back to look questioningly at Achilles. “Lad, before you go--whatever you decide to do, don’t do it halfway, alright? Fear is for the weak.”

Zagreus’ mind ricochets between appreciation and rueful amusement--that Achilles would offer his usual earthy wisdom, not knowing the stupidity of the matter he applies it to. As if it’s _fear_ , poetic and melancholy, that stays Zagreus from spontaneously begging Theseus to ravish him, and not the inherent mortification of it.

But there’s no way for Achilles to know that Theseus is the man in question, and Zagreus would rather bathe in the Phlegethon than tell him, so he just smiles and says, "Of course, sir." Achilles releases him, but he can hear them speaking still as he goes, faint echoes from across the room.

_“What was all that about?”_

_“Nothing at all, except he brought it up and then wouldn’t tell us a thing...you know I’ve no patience for that.”_

_“You’re altogether too suspicious of my prince, still, Pat.”_

As the door closes, the last thing Zagreus hears is a chuckle from Patroclus and the words, _“He’s not just_ your _prince, though, is he?”_

\--

“Here’s the fiend again, Asterius! Come to lose once more, and we shall oblige!”

Zagreus glares across the arena, flexing his hands in the Twin Fists. Frost steams off them. This time he’s making it through, and after that--well, forget Theseus’ ridiculous demands. The king will get over it, and everything will be fine, and Zagreus will never again make the mistake of mentioning all this to Patroclus and Achilles, even naming no names. Meg and Than both like to tease him, in their own ways, but neither of them make him feel quite so hunted as Patroclus’ knifelike wit. (Or as guilty as Achilles’ misplaced confidence--the gulf between _“wouldn’t come within an arm’s length of the champion”_ and _“Zagreus, god of whores”_ is _staggering_.)

All of this comes out of his mouth as, “I’m not in the mood today, king. Why don’t you shut that loud mouth of yours for once and let’s try to kill each other like warriors! Unless you’d like me to be _gentle_ with you here, too?”

Theseus goes silent. Asterius, on the other hand, steps forward with a great clank of golden armor, axe at the ready. “You made a promise to me, short one.”

Zagreus remembers. _“You will not provoke him, at the risk of our treasured rivalry?”_ Asterius had asked, and of course he’d agreed. If he doesn’t apologize now, this fight is likely to be all the harder for it.

He says nothing. Asterius waits a moment longer, then seems to accept that the conversation is over and narrows his eyes with what sounds like a growl. The next instant, he’s a whirling blur of gold and pink, and Zagreus is running.

It should have been hard. Theseus and Asterius fight with such fury--a fury that would surely have sent him to the Styx, had he encountered it on his last attempt. But there are days or nights when the gods’ gifts allow Zagreus an advantage even _he_ feels is unfair. He dispatches Asterius first with Demeter’s cold and Ares’ rage, a whirl of blood and snow. It’s disgustingly short work to unseat Theseus from the Macedonian, and from there...

“You’ll pay for this!”

“Will I?” pants Zagreus. _One more good punch…_ He dashes in past the spear’s range, throwing jabs--mostly they hit the shield, but that’s fine-- “Tell me more, king!”

“ _Nrgh, you--!_ Filth!!”

\--attack from the front, set up a rhythm to lull him, and then break it quick and sharp--one good punch from behind--

“When next we meet--”

“Yes?” Zagreus prompts, with more interest than he’d meant. But--after his remarks earlier, surely Theseus will have some lascivious comment ready to go...something something _bad monster,_ something something _must be tamed_ \--

Theseus glares at him over his shield, blue eyes hard as ice. “--Why, then--Asterius and I shall defeat you again in battle, daemon! Nothing more, nothing le-- _augh--!_ ”

The champion disintegrates into blue-white light with his usual cry of rage. Zagreus watches dispassionately, one fist still raised. Well, fine, then. He can wait a little longer.

That thought clings to him as a bottle of ambrosia drops into his hand. _Wait a little longer._ For what? Surely it hasn’t become such a staple in his life? Surely he isn’t _impatient_ to sleep with (gods!) King Theseus, again. No. _No, you’re just bothering Achilles and Patroclus about it because you know Than and Meg would tell you to swallow your pride, and riling him up as much as you can in the arena because eventually he might snap, right? Say what you want about Theseus, and gods know there’s_ plenty _to say, but at least he’s not in denial anymore. What about you? Zagreus?_

Zagreus realizes he’s already through the exit, his body moving on automatic while his mind churns. Down the hall, he can see the intersection of corridors--the right turn that would take him to a familiar door, a familiar, annoyingly well-decorated room… He draws level with the corner, squinting through the gloom, trying to find it.

“Short one.”

Zagreus whips around so fast that his neck cracks. “Asterius! I was just--that is--”

“Speak plainly and quickly,” the bull rumbles. “My patience is short, now. As you should know.”

“Right--I’m sorry about that, but--”

“But?” There’s so much stoic disappointment in that one syllable that Zagreus thinks he might drop dead on the spot from shame. He soldiers on anyway. _Whatever you decide to do, don't do it halfway._

 _“But--_ I was hoping to...to make amends.”

\--

For time interminable, Theseus does not rise from the Elysian Pool of Styx. Instead he floats upon its surface, buoyed somehow despite the weight of his glumness. The daemon has moved on, of that much he is certain. The daemon is dashing headlong to his next battle, and laughing over his shoulder at Elysium and its champion. A champion who has made a fool of himself.

It’s quite a walk back to the arena, and a lonely one this time, as Asterius didn’t wait for him. Theseus makes the journey in a towering mood, barely even remembering to spare a sparkling smile for the fans he passes outside the arena. What a _day_ (or night)! What a terrible disgrace! And now even his bearing begins to slip! And what is he, without it?

Asterius appears around a corner before his mind can supply an answer, and Theseus is pitifully glad of the interruption.

“Asterius, I would train with you again,” he says, all kingliness and wounded dignity. “We’ll defeat him soundly when next he appears, never fear!”

Asterius gives him one of his unreadable looks. “King. You should go to your chambers.”

“Asterius! I cannot _rest!_ How can you suggest such a thing, on the heels of such an ignominious def--”

 _“Theseus.”_ The bull rests both hands on his shoulders, leaning down to put their gazes on a level. His nose ring taps gently against Theseus’ chin. “Go.”

Mystified, and prepared to be somewhat injured if this is Asterius’ roundabout way of asking for time alone, Theseus goes.

Truly, he didn’t want to train. But what else is he to do? Languish in his empty room, which always seems too large by far without Asterius’ company? He pauses with one hand on the door, hardly wanting to go in. But, well, perhaps the bull will follow later and bring some cheer in the form of--

The fiend.

Is here. Waiting for him, just as he asked. Kneeling, completely naked. Flushed with furious humiliation.

The sight is electrifying _._

“Sir,” he says, with what seems like a great effort. If this is a dream, may the Oneiroi let Theseus luxuriate in it a while longer. He coughs, taking in the sight before him: the vulnerability of bare flesh against the lush carpet, looking like nothing so much as another of Theseus’ many kingly valuables. Some statue of pale marble, perhaps, lovingly titled _The Supplicant_ by its sculptor. How to respond? What to say? He must not become over-excited, must not betray the doubts that so plagued him since their last meeting in private.

“Ah--Well! Have you...something to say to me, fiend?”

“I--” The daemon looks down. “Wanted...to...apologize. Erm. Sir.”

“As you so often should,” says Theseus encouragingly.

The daemon glares again at that, but when he at last says, “Yes, sir,” his voice is so soft and penitent that Theseus thinks he may swoon. Light-headed, he moves to the bed. The air feels taut, heavy with anticipation as he takes a wide-legged seat and beckons, still making a great effort not to seem too eager.

“Then--come, monster! Will you kiss your master and seek forgiveness?”

From under a thatch of dark hair, the daemon’s eyes meet his. 

“Yes or no,” says Theseus, breathless.

“...Yes sir,” says the daemon, and for good measure snaps his fingers twice.

Theseus will have to undress at some point, is already thinking rapturously of the pleasure to be had here--but there is something delicious about remaining clothed while the naked creature straddles his thighs. For now, he allows it.

“Well?” he says. They’re nose to nose, sharing heat and breath. The intimacy of it is both revolting and compelling--emotions he can see mirrored in the face before his.

“...Sir.” At last, the daemon’s lips press soft and chaste against his. Once. Twice. Theseus holds himself still, thinking of the Fury Megaera and her unshakeable composure. But, oh, what a feeling--is this what it is to be worshipped? No wonder the gods are so fond of it.

“Please--” The daemon hesitates, drops his head as though overwhelmed with the ignominy, his hair tickling Theseus’ neck.

“What was that?” says Theseus expectantly.

The daemon exhales slowly as though steeling himself, then rises and kisses him again. “Please forgive me my...my--insolence, earlier. It was. Wrong of me.”

“Yes, quite!” Theseus declares. The fiend interrupts him continuously with his own mouth, but Theseus finds he hardly objects to it. “Your, _mm,_ enthusiasm is noted, _mmh._ A commendable, _mmm_ start.”

 _“I want you, sir,”_ says the fiend against his mouth, his voice so low that Theseus almost misses it. Then the words register, and a shock runs through his belly, jerking almost painfully at his groin. He stares at the ceiling for a moment, trying to ignore the daemon’s warm breath on his lips. His own breath threatens to run wild, but he refuses to respond with heaving chest and trembling voice, like a tempted maiden. To calm himself, play-acting at lofty disappointment, he sighs loudly.

 _“Ah..._ is that so? And you think I shall oblige? Even though you displeased me so terribly?”

“Please,” says the daemon, and though his voice is not as sweet as it sounded pressed to the throat of Death, still it delights. It enflames, intoxicates, engorges. “Let me make it up to you. I’ll do--” His mouth moves to Theseus’ ear, his cheek hot against Theseus’. “--anything. Anything you’d like. Sir.”

Theseus moans aloud, turns in a fit of strange fondness to press a kiss of his own to the daemon’s face. The daemon twitches, but doesn’t pull away--allows Theseus to stroke the curve of his bare, lithe back.

 _“Good pet,”_ he breathes, and the daemon shivers under his hands.

 _“Nh_...thank you, sir…”

It’s been a heady draught from the start, seeing the daemon submit to discipline. But making him submit to _praise_ is something else entirely. Theseus would not in a thousand years have dreamed he could take such delight in lavishing attention on such a reprehensible being, but he finds the role so appealing now--a gracious master, condescending to his wayward pet with sticky-sweet words. How the monster _squirms_ at it, and yet he receives it without complaint! Why, the gratification could almost drive a king to tears.

...It’s high time he got out of his clothes.

“First of all, you ought to undress me,” he announces. “And--to atone for your upstart contempt, earlier, sing my praises! Tell me of your devotion to my body!”

The daemon, who is already gamely reaching around his body to undo his belt, squints up at him for a moment. “Er--yes, sir. And what should I say…?”

“Show some creativity, there, hellspawn,” says Theseus impatiently, as the belt comes loose. “I’m positive you are capable of it--what was it you said, once? Ah! That you _worship with your mouth_. But what was it you called your god? I can’t seem to recall!”

 _Surely_ on any other day or night he would hear a truculent, muttered _“Bastard!”_ for that. He can see it burning behind the daemon’s eyes. And yet, _and yet…_

 _“Your cock, sir,”_ he says, with only the faintest undercurrent of defiance in his voice, and even rocks his hips once, grinding long and slow against Theseus.

 _“Nnh--!_ Oh-- S-so you _do_ remember,” Theseus remarks, as the fiend undoes the clasp of his tunic. “Somewhat impressive, I must admit, given your state at the time!”

“Thank you, sir.”

The daemon is silent for a moment, and in truth Theseus has almost forgotten about the command itself, so bewitching is the sight of his enemy delicately stripping away one of his gloves. Then, without looking at him, the daemon says, “Your skill with the spear is glorious, sir.”

“Ah,” says Theseus, a tiny, surprised sound. Pride swells, unbidden, in his chest.

The daemon glances at him, then continues, “You and Asterius are legends. It’s an honor just to be defeated by you...and I’d...I’d hardly stand a chance without the help of the gods.”

“That’s right,” says Theseus softly, watching almost hypnotized as the daemon takes his other hand and works on the glove there. He casts it aside onto the floor. Theseus forgets to object.

“So strong.” Warm hands stroke his bare arm, squeeze his bicep. “So handsome, sir. You use me so well.” His hips roll again, making Theseus groan. “King. Champion.” A soft, reverent purr, so different from the tone Lady Megaera cast the words in. “...Master. What an honor, to be your plaything…to be disciplined by your hand…”

“Oh--yes--” Theseus pulls him close, burying the monster’s face in his bosom. “Good pet-- _haah…here,_ kiss…”

The daemon sucks obediently at his flesh, still murmuring intermittently in that light, gravelly voice. “Your body...so beautiful… Sculpted by the gods…” 

“Y-yes,” Theseus agrees again. His heart, or the phantasmagorical equivalent, hammers so fiercely with every whispered compliment that Theseus is sure it must be audible, even from the arena. The daemon _must_ feel its thrum. In his anxiety, he tightens his grip on the fiend’s hair, and hears the tiniest of grunt of pleasure.

“ _Hn--_ sir, yes--my body’s yours--”

 _But not only mine._ Seized by passing sadism, Theseus clenches still harder, wonders if the fiend will stop him--he doesn’t, only whimpers and bucks his hips. _Gods._ “What--what of the others you mentioned? Who could _do as I do, only better?”_

“Sir--” The fiend cranes his neck, peering up from under his lashes, his face still pressed to Theseus’ chest. Like a begging dog, _oh--_ “I want--” Again he catches himself, tries to turn his face away, but Theseus won’t allow it, holds the fiend trapped against his body, looking up. The daemon’s breath comes faster. “ _Hhh--ngh--_ I--have other masters, sir, but--”

“But?”

The daemon fights it for just a moment--Theseus can see hellish pride still gleaming in his eyes, even clasped to his master’s breast, naked and hard as iron. Then, beautifully, he masters himself, becoming servile again. “...I’m only your...pet. Sir. Only yours.”

Theseus hauls the fiend bodily back up, bringing them chest to chest, letting his hands fall with a vigorous clap onto the daemon’s rump. “Mine,” he says, into the daemon’s ear.

The daemon groans, now with only the faintest edge of annoyance, his voice wobbling as Theseus kneads at his buttocks. His arms are around Theseus’ shoulders, clinging to him. _“Yours.”_

Theseus spreads him wide, finds him already relaxed and slick. A thrill runs through him, and not just at the daemon’s renewed moaning. His instructions were followed to the _letter_. “ _Good_ pet,” he manages, almost euphoric. “Good monster, good whore, _oh--_ y-you spent your time well, waiting for me...”

“Thank-- _ah--_ thank you--I used the bath, sir.”

“ _My_ bath?” Theseus looks to the dimmest corner of his quarters, the faint pink glow there. He imagines the daemon submerged in the pool again, swarmed with ghostly hands, letting it open him for Theseus’ use... “Ah...and did you think of me, when it touched you?”

The daemon hesitates--nods, silently. Not good enough. Theseus splits their bodies, grasps the daemon’s chin to turn that sultry glare on himself again.

“Say it.”

“...Yes,” says the daemon. It’s coming to him easier now, though the faintest tinge of reluctance remains. “Sir. I thought of you.” He casts his eyes over his shoulder. “Your hands on me.”

A tremendous thought occurs to Theseus. Praying not to betray his desperate hopes outwardly, he says, “And...did you allow it to finish you?”

“Er--” The daemon goes still. Oh, gods, yes, he _did._ Theseus sends a heartfelt prayer of thanks to Lady Aphrodite, who has been so gracious to him in his afterlife. “I...it’s quite hard to stop once it--”

“First, you were unfathomably rude,” Theseus interrupts, keeping his voice low and stern with a colossal effort. “You disrespected me before my adoring audience, with foul and unbecoming language… And then you came here, and used my quarters to your liking, for your own pleasure? All the while imagining _me?”_

“I...yes, sir,” huffs the daemon, looking pinned under his gaze. It’s not an air Theseus has ever seen on him, except with the Fury. That he can conjure it as well turns the flame of confidence in his heart to a great blaze, fills his voice with ecstasy.

“Ah-- _filth...!”_

“Yes, sir,” says the daemon, breathless and rough, his body finally seeming to relax as he submits to his role at last. Theseus is familiar, by now, with that look in his eyes: nothing less than the sweetest, most glad surrender.

“You agree, then!” he exclaims.

“Yes, I’m--filth, sir--”

If he could hear those words in that voice on repeat for the rest of his afterlife, Elysium would be just that much better. “Zagreus” never found time to remove the clothes from his lower half, but Theseus suddenly doesn’t care. He needs to be inside the daemon, _now, immediately._

“You must be punished for such things,” he pants, beginning to lose his regal bearing as he fumbles to pull back his tunic. The daemon shudders.

“Yes sir, _please_ \--I’m sorry--”

“But first, perhaps you can, _nh,_ appease me _thus--_ ” Theseus aligns himself with the daemon’s entrance, fairly trembling with lust even as he fusses over the task--it’s always a difficult proposition at this angle, and with no line of sight...

Without prompting, the daemon reaches blindly around to assist, his eyes dazed. Strong, slender fingers close on Theseus’ length, guiding him a little further back and then-- Theseus gasps aloud as the daemon plunges onto him, taking him to the hilt without preamble. He shifts as though to raise himself again, and Theseus grasps him frantically, pinning them flush together.

“Not--not yet--! _Ah_ \--unruly thing--!”

The daemon’s lips find his once again, and the kisses he presses there are no longer chaste. “Sir please-- _mmh--I can be good--let me--nh!”_

“So _wanton!”_ Theseus drags his head back by the hair, bites at that flawless, arched throat. Thinks dizzily of the marks he’ll leave there. The daemon's noises of pleasure are gratifying, but there are other things he wants to hear more... “Were you thinking of this, _mnh_ , all along? _Ah..._ provoking me, for this?”

The daemon nods furiously, shameless, clenching around him. “I’ve been waiting sir--”

"And how does it, _hhh,_ feel, hellspawn? To be full of me once more?”

“Zagreus” turns hazy eyes on him, chest heaving, and _smiles_. “Perfect, sir.”

In a flash, Theseus seizes him, twists, throws him on his back. One day or night he’ll see the daemon atop him, watch lazily as the creature rides his cock. But in this moment Theseus is a man possessed, with no choice in the matter--he _must_ have the daemon beneath him, must be the conqueror, must hear that word from the daemon’s lips once more.

“Say--it--again--” he commands, punctuating each word with a snap of his hips. The fiend only keens wordlessly in response, writhing, eyes rolled back and mouth wide. On a whim, Theseus kisses his cheek again, a sloppy attempt at encouragement. “Say it-- _again_ ,” he manages, hears his own voice coarse and shaking. “Daemon! _Ngh--filth, say it--_ ”

 _“Per--_ fuck!!--gods--sir! Perfect-- _aah!_ ” The daemon cries out, arching his back, his arms splayed limply above his head. Theseus forgets his dislike of him entirely, in that moment--bends down to mesh their open mouths in as passionate a kiss as he’s ever had with another lover. Such rewards are important, he thinks feverishly, even as pleasure begins to build and then to crest. And praise, too--

_“Good pet--so tight--all f-for me--yes--!”_

“Sir-- _oh--_ ” The daemon’s words jolt out of him in a disjointed stream, his voice overlapping Theseus’. “Thank _y--ahhh--_ so f-- _so fast, aah--per,_ hhh, fect-- _”_

It’s the last straw. To say hear it again, unprompted, adoring and helpless--gods help him-- _“_ Nhaa--ah-- _nhuh!_ Zagre-- _aahh--!_ ”

The wave crashes. Theseus comes inside him, and keeps thrusting as long as he can after the fact. The greedy snarling of lust within him slows to a languid grumble as he sits back, surveying his work. The daemon, still arched and twitching, one foot still hovering helplessly in the air. Still hard as the day is long. Theseus crawls forward, thinking to take him in hand and watch his face twist in pleasure, but--

_“Sir--my punishment--”_

Oh, gods--Theseus practically feels his heart clench. This fawning obedience shall slay him faster than the blackguard’s blade! “Of course...I had not forgotten,” Theseus lies. What to do, how to torment him... “Should I call on the goddess again?”

The daemon bites his lip, looking sorely tempted, but snaps his fingers three times--the signal to slow _._ Theseus leans close, feeling such discussions should be had covertly, despite their lack of company. “Fiend?”

“Too much,” gasps the daemon in his ear, with what must be his last drop of self-awareness. “Not this time, not with her. Too much.”

Theseus falls back, considering his options. “Then, something else… Perhaps--”

His eyes alight on the little container of cream on the bedside table--just where Lady Megaera left it. Theseus snatches it up and raises an eyebrow at the daemon, who whimpers softly at the sight.

“You recognize this?”

 _Click click._ _“Yes_ sir--”

Theseus pauses, struggles with the lid for a moment before working out how to open it. He chances a nervous glance at the daemon, who seems wholly unaware. Good. “How many blows, do you think? For your, ah, disgusting transgressions?”

“Ten--fifteen--” The daemon seems to become frustrated at the task, and numbers as a concept. He groans, hooks both hands behind his knees and hauls them back, presenting himself entirely. _“Urgh--anything,_ I can take it sir, I deserve it…”

“That’s right,” says Theseus absentmindedly. A pleasant, post-orgasmic fog has filled his mind, but he searches his memory doggedly. _Start light...what position is he in, plan ahead--_ ah, battle is _easy_ by comparison…

The daemon whimpers--perhaps believing he’s being teased intentionally with a long wait, and Theseus is happy to let him believe it. “Five,” he says, at last, and caresses one of the daemon’s thighs. Muscles jerk under his hand. The daemon’s breathing tightens, fervent and high-pitched. “Only five, I think, because you pleased me so well…”

“ _Ah-hh-hh--_ thank you…please--”

“Depraved creature, so hungry for pain! Have it, then!”

Theseus is glad he chose a smaller number--spent and sleepy, he barely even remembers what the punishment is for. There’s much to be said for the activity, however--interrupting “Zagreus” mid-sentence with a well-placed strike, the plaintive sounds it knocks out of him, the sight of rosy handprints stamped across his thighs…

“-- _Five,”_ Theseus pants, planting the last one squarely on the daemon’s rump. His hand comes away sticky with his own seed, which drips even now from the fiend onto the comforter beneath him. “A very well-used daemon, indeed,” he proclaims. “I wonder--with her ladyship’s divine assistance, could I make you come just from being struck? I think it would not be impossible…”

A garbled utterance reaches his ears in response, some brainless mixture of gratitude and pleading. And why should he deny it, this time? Better to reinforce good behavior as firmly as possible. Theseus settles down with a grunt, pressed close to the fiend, one hand reaching carefully between Zagreus’ legs. “I am satisfied, my pet,” he says. And then, why not--”Kiss.” 

Without a second thought, the daemon obeys. He comes shortly thereafter, moaning into Theseus’ mouth, and Theseus thinks the sound is sweeter than nectar.

\--

Something has changed. Not emotionally--well, perhaps--the fight seems to be over, thankfully. But Zagreus’ main concern is that he woke up with Theseus’ arms knotted firmly around his upper body, and has not yet been able to escape. He’d expected Theseus to release him with a shout of disgust upon waking, but bewilderingly the king has only pulled him closer. It’s been an _hour._ What is _happening._

“So?” he says, finally.

 _“So_ what, blackguard?” says Theseus, sleepy.

“Is that what you want from now on? From the start?” Zagreus grimaces. _“...Kisses.”_

“You may do as you please from now on.” Theseus re-settles his hold on Zagreus’ torso. Realistically it’s a chance to break loose, but why bother, really. What dignity does he have left to reclaim. “You proved your desire for me, and _most_ satisfactorily, at that. _”_ Theseus nuzzles at the back of his neck. Not squirming away when he had the chance was a mistake. “And I am given to understand you enjoyed it?”

He thinks Zagreus can’t hear that tremulous undertone to the question. The idiot. It’s too irritating to admit it aloud, but lying will only complicate things, _again._ Zagreus snaps his fingers, twice.

A chuckle vibrates through his back, as though Theseus’ self-satisfaction is seeping into him from behind. The king twists around to kiss his cheek, apparently delighting in Zagreus’ annoyed wriggling. “You have become a most well-behaved monster!”

“Not well-behaved enough to stop rampaging through Elysium,” Zagreus reminds him irritably. “Don’t forget that.”

“Well then!” Theseus shimmies even closer, somehow. “I shall always have much to punish you for, shan’t I!”

Zagreus is still trying to figure out whether this is a fresh come-on, or if this clinginess is just the new norm, when heavy footsteps outside the door signal the arrival of Asterius. He pulls up short as he enters, bemusedly taking in the sight of them together.

“You’ve settled it, then. Good.”

“Friend Asterius! He showed _great_ willingness,” says Theseus proudly, tucking his chin into the crook of Zagreus’ neck. “Did you not, fiend? Such _flattery_ you had for me--say it now to Asterius!”

“I’m not saying anything until you _stop that._ Did Meg put you up to this? Asterius, get him off me, please.”

“Can you not wrestle, short one?” says Asterius, and Theseus laughs almost boyishly, finally releasing Zagreus’ torso--and immediately pivoting to put him in an arm lock.

“I _can_ , thank you,” says Zagreus, glaring at the ceiling. “I just don’t think I should have to.” Theseus’ bare, bronze legs lie heavy across his chest, gleaming as usual. Meg would probably call this an improvement, and probably also laugh at him. Probably, she would be right on both counts.

“You look well, entangled thus,” says Asterius, even as Theseus makes a great show of at last letting go. “Did you compete this time, to see who could last the longest?”

Theseus and Zagreus share a look, for once seeming to share a thought.

“Well,” says Zagreus.

“When we are alone, I make the blackguard wait,” says Theseus. “So that he may know his place, you understand, Asterius.”

Zagreus shrugs, letting go of 'know his place'. “Right. So, I’d win, hands-down.”

Theseus whips about to face him, his features puckered with indignation. “Fiend!!”

“I’m sorry,” says Zagreus, who isn’t, “but I have experience with this kind of thing. And you--”

“I am _champion_ ,” says Theseus, drawing himself up in an attitude of great righteousness. “In the arena _and_ without!”

“In bed, even! I’m amazed!”

“You jest, foul creature, but _yes_ , also in bed, as you well know!”

“Stop,” says Asterius. Theseus and Zagreus, who had been shouting a foot from each other’s faces, sit back chagrined.

“Ah, friend Asterius, my apologies…”

“None necessary,” rumbles the bull, making his way across the room. “It’s only that I know the short one must continue his journey. If this were to go on...I think I would wish to keep him here longer.”

Zagreus swallows. His body, which he’d previously thought completely spent, seems suddenly ready to maybe consider a second round. “Did I understand you right, there, sir? You…”

“I would...be glad to observe such a competition,” says Asterius, opening a chest that sits against a nearby wall. Zagreus wouldn’t have noticed it, otherwise--it’s such a modest piece of furniture that it might as well not exist, in this room. Its contents are a confusing array of gold and bronze, gleaming leather and gauzy cloth. He leans over the side of the bed for a better look, eyes narrowed.

“What the…”

Theseus throws an arm across his face, obscuring his view. “Asterius! My friend! Whatever it is you seek there, perhaps it could wait until _after the fiend has gone?”_

“Oh, no,” snaps Zagreus, ducking and swatting the offending arm away. “You asked me to be here! You specifically requested this--”

“Not _this_ \--”

“Asterius wants me here!”

“Asterius as much as said you should be on your way--!”

Asterius shuts the chest with an air of finality that somehow makes both of them go silent at once.

“...Well, sir?” says Zagreus, after a moment. “Did, er--did you find what you were looking for?”

“I did.” Asterius lifts the item for their inspection. Theseus has the same odd look he wore the last time Asterius proposed they all play together--half-pained, half-intrigued.

“Asterius, I’m not sure…”

“We need not use it.”

“I didn’t say--it’s just--well--”

“Alright,” says Zagreus, “I think I know what that’s for, but you’re going to have to explain where you’re going with this. Also, I’m sorry, but...I’m starving. And I need a wash.”

So he sponges himself down, and they split an ambrosia three ways, and Asterius tells them what he’s been imagining. And by the end Zagreus practically has to be shoved out the door, insisting all the while that he can do it now, he’s up for it _right now_. But--later, Asterius says, staunchly. It must be fair. They must both be fresh.

Zagreus appreciates the thought--he does, truly. But he’s not losing, either way.

Not with a prize like that on the line.

\--

“So?” says Patroclus. “Did you take Achilles’ advice?”

“I...did.” Zagreus sighs. The usual cool breeze washes off the Lethe, soothing his scorched arms. Damned Flamewheels. “He was right, as it turned out. I didn’t think so at the time, but...”

Patroclus nods sympathetically. “He does that, sometimes. And was the champion pleased with you?”

“He,” Zagreus starts, and then stops, sweating. Patroclus stares blankly back at him, amber eyes searching and innocent. “He...is hardly any of my concern, sir. As you well know.”

“If you say so, stranger.” Patroclus grins, a rare sight. “Don’t hold it against me, alright? It’s dreadfully boring around here while our mutual friend is on duty. But if you ever do let slip your dalliances with the champion...I promise not to tell him.”

Zagreus sighs, abjectly relieved. “Thank you.”

In the silence that follows, Patroclus raises an eyebrow. Oh. _Damn it._

**Author's Note:**

> -I couldn't find a place in the flow of the story for it, but you can assume Theseus did apply that lotion after they finished. HE'S LEARNING, ALRIGHT. HE REMEMBERED. Meg would still give them a C+ at best, but. You know.  
> -It's always interesting when the porn starts to really take on a life of its own and...result in mild character development? A little nerve-wracking, honestly.  
> -The line from today's installment that probably shouldn't have stayed in except I thought it was funny: Theseus saying "I said what I said!!"  
> -So many italics, and 50% of them fucked up for some reason. Look...I like expressing inflection, and Theseus does a lot of inflecting...  
> -Theseus knows Thanatos' name for sure but for some reason I like having him think of everyone euphemistically?  
> -Next time, on Shitty Boy Corner: The Get-Along Collar. Everyone please welcome back Local Naturally Competent Brat-Wrangler Asterius.  
> (today's final joke quote comes from @lunaroutlaw, thank you lunar  
> asterius: simple question  
> thesezag: (YELLING))


End file.
